


The Dead of Night, I Suppose

by LilDoodleCat



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 05:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17892419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilDoodleCat/pseuds/LilDoodleCat
Summary: Jack is hurting, but at least Anti's there now.





	The Dead of Night, I Suppose

**Author's Note:**

> ya'll I'm not gonna lie, this is 100% just me feeling like shit and kinda venting  
> tbh I didn't edit it either so it probably sucks, sorry

He wasn’t okay, hadn’t been for quite some time. Everyone was gone. Any friends he thought he had were just… gone. His tears had long since run dry, leaving his cheeks wet and his head pounding. He couldn’t feel. Everything was numb. 

Jack sucked in a breath, stumbling into his kitchen and eyeing the knife block briefly. No, he couldn’t, knives were just too scary. Their cuts were too clean and easy. Jack wanted something rough. Something that would make him feel again. He fished a pair of scissors from a drawer, holding them open and squeezing, slicing into his fingers where they held the blades.

The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly. Pain was a feeling. It didn’t matter what he felt at this point, he just wanted to feel something. _Anything_. Thus he brought the scissor blade to his wrist and dragged it over his skin, ripping a fat line that beaded blood and brought a breathless laugh. It wasn’t funny.

Again. Again and again and again he dragged the blade of the scissors over and through his skin. ‘Pretty’ he thought. It wasn’t pretty. Again on the other wrist. Again and again until his arm stained red. Jack was shaking. Shaking and shaking and _scared_. The sting was almost unfamiliar, and yet if he thought, he could recall. 

At last he released his grip on the scissors, allowing them to stick to his bloodied fingers for just a moment before they clattered to the tile at his feet. A dry sob choked him as he eyed his work, unable to look away. You could try to call it art, but you’d only be lying to yourself. His knees finally gave out and hit the ground roughly; Jack didn’t care.

Familiar electricity suddenly crackled through the air. The lights dimmed and brightened at random intervals, sparks snapping from a few just out of Jack’s sight. And then Anti was there, floating and not looking at Jack but instead at his knife.

“Hey Jack, been a while.” Anti flipped his knife around, still keeping his gaze off the broken man. “Look, Chase kicked me out so I’m crashing here for a while.”

Silence. Anti furrowed his brow, wrinkling his nose suddenly when the irony stench of blood reached him. He turned, eyes widening. His lips parted slightly and his knife dissipated into a dark green smoke. His feet touched down on the floor and he immediately knelt before Jack, reaching a hand out to cup his cheek and resting the other on his shoulder.

“Jack?”

Jack looked up from his arms for only a second, quickly darting back down as if the cuts he was observing would not be there if he looked away too long. Anti rubbed his thumb over Jack’s cheekbone, feeling the still damp skin. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he hesitated. He leaned down further to examine Jack’s face, and upon his inspection of Jack’s gaze his conclusions shut his mouth.

Instead he moved to lift Jack and carry him to the sink. The water was turned on, cold. Anti took Jack’s hands carefully and guided them under the water. Jack sucked in a harsh breath when the water flowed over the lacerations, breaths becoming ragged as he turned his gaze from his arms to the blood flowing down the sink. Slowly, Anti moved all of the cuts and ripped flesh under the flow, careful not to touch any of them himself. Water ran red until he deemed the wounds sufficiently clean. He had Jack run water over them once more to soothe the pain, if only slightly.

Then, and with an apology, he dabbed them with a clean towel. Jack flinched every time to vaguely rough material brushed against his skin, frowning in the quiet. Anti, meanwhile, scowled as he wrapped the injuries in gauze. He didn’t really know how to care for cuts like this, despite having had one on his neck for quite a while before it dulled into a pinkish scar. He hoped that, if anything, his care was better than nothing.

Jack pulled away slightly, trying to retreat from the scene. Anti sighed, not letting go. Jack’s frown deepened—if that was possible—and Anti scowled. How typical of the two. It didn’t take long for Jack to give in, sinking into Anti’s hold and tucking his face against Anti’s chest.

“It’s alright, I’m here.” He murmured, picking Jack up once and moving him to the bedroom.

Anti laid Jack down under the covers, crawling in after him and hugging the Irishmen’s torso against his own. He didn’t dare even brush against the broken man’s arms, and so he laid still, listening to Jack’s breathing until it evened out and he knew he was asleep. Still, he never left his side, never letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](https://lildoodlecat.tumblr.com/) if you care  
> I accept small writing requests on there if that interests you? Info's in my bio over there


End file.
